Tricksters
by aliasfluffyone
Summary: With only two dollars and forty-seven cents between them, how does a pair of pretty good bad men manage? And a woman on her own? Trying for amnesty days, c Jun 1881
1. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Story title: Tricksters

Chapter 1: Between a Rock and a Hard Place

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"How much money have you got left?"

Kid's swift, sure fingers tightened the cinch on his bay before he glanced at his partner. Heyes' black shirt clung to his chest in the hot stable, his unbuttoned brown vest flapped loosely as Heyes' raised his arm and rubbed the back of his neck. He already had his black gelding saddled and ready to go. The sturdy creature swatted his tail against the buzzing insects.

"Enough."

Kid loosened the collar of his white shirt. The tan jacket he wore was lighter than his sheepskin, but too warm inside the livery. Heyes led his horse out of the stable. Kid followed. A fresh breeze was a welcome relief. The slender mastermind in front of him turned back to face him. Dark brown eyes narrowed as Heyes regarded Kid quizzically.

"Enough for another stage ticket?" prodded Heyes. "We could telegraph Lom. I'm sure Thaddeus Jones could try for amnesty in New Orleans just as well as New Mexico."

Blue eyes glanced east. Kid swallowed. The Southwest Territorial stage headed east earlier with Michele Monet and another piece of his heart. This was the second time his partner had mentioned going to New Orleans. Heyes' current suggestion was a bit more specific than a vague someday and didn't say anything about Joshua Smith going too. Kid shook his curly blond head. Sometimes Heyes got some peculiar ideas, Kid needed to set his cousin straight.

"You worry too much. I'm not going to New Orleans," stated Kid. "I told Michele she oughta marry a banker."

The well-muscled man placed a brown boot in his stirrup and mounted. Heyes snorted an objection before hoisting himself upwards into his own saddle. Nimble fingers reached for his black hat and placed it upon his head at a jaunty angle.

"Some ladies like bank robbers better than bankers," smirked Heyes.

"These days, I don't have much to do with banks," reminded Kid.

Kid nudged his horse forward, setting the pace at an unhurried walk. As they reached the edge of this tiny border town, Heyes turned sideways.

"Seeing as how you paid for Michele's trip back to New Orleans, I tucked a hundred from my share of our earnings from Mr. McKendrick into her guitar case when she wasn't looking," informed Heyes.

Kid's eyebrows went up. When had that happened? When he was kissing Michele goodbye? The watchful man turned his gaze towards his partner. Heyes beamed. Kid's eyes travelled past Heyes' self-satisfied dimpled grin to rest for a moment on the bulging saddlebags before moving on to Heyes' bedroll. Every step the gelding took bounced parcels tied to the blankets. Kid's own saddlebags and bedroll were similarly stuffed and his sheepskin jacket was tied across the top of it all. The twenty-seven year old wondered how much money Heyes had left after providing for Michele and stocking them both up with so many supplies.

"Glad I loaded the guitar in the stage with Michele, instead of on the roof like the driver wanted," remarked Kid. "Wouldn't want that kinda money getting lost."

"No sense in loading everything on top," agreed Heyes. "She's got a long ride today. There's plenty of room in the coach, I'm sure she'll open the case soon to play something. She'll find the money then."

"What is it you're always telling me about doin' good deeds?"

"Kid, she's gonna have expenses and I figured Michele wouldn't want to take money from you," explained the genius.

"You're right, she wouldn't take any travelling money, said the tickets cost too much," replied Kid.

"This way Michele will have enough to cover meals and hotels, maybe even a little extra for when she gets to New Orleans," declared Heyes.

The confident strategist turned to face west. Heyes jiggled the reins slightly, urging the black into a slow trot. Kid leaned forward. The bay picked up its pace, easily matching the other horse's gait.

"Yep," agreed Kid. "Especially when she finds the envelope I slipped into her carpet bag."

Heyes' head snapped around. His jaw hung open for a moment before he spoke. Kid straightened up in his saddle. Ahead of them, the rutted dirt road twisted around a stand of piñon pines and continued onward bearing slightly north, northwest. No other riders or wagons appeared as far as Kid's sharp eyes could see.

"Envelope? What envelope?" spluttered Heyes.

"The one with the last of my share from the money Mr. McKendrick paid us," Kid's calm voice answered.

"The money Mr. McKendrick paid us?" squawked Heyes. "You gave it all to Michele?"

"No," clarified Kid. "Most of it went to the man at the stage depot for her tickets east. I just gave her what was left."

He gathered the reins in his left hand. With his right hand, he pulled his brown hat up from where it bounced between his shoulder blades and settled it firmly over his tousled dark gold curls. Kid tilted the brim down, shadowing his face against the bright sun.

"You said you had enough money," reminded Heyes. "How much money do you have left? How much is enough?"

"Same as when we first started out to Mexico, two dollars and forty-seven cents."

"And that's enough? Enough for what?"

"Heyes, I don't want to hear it," murmured Kid.

"But that was…"

"How much did you pay for that roan in Union Flats?"

Kid's lips pressed into a smirk at the sudden silence from his partner. Heyes had spent nearly every bit of the money they'd earned shooting cougars to purchase an overpriced sway backed animal that couldn't gallop ten minutes without getting winded.

"It was the only horse for sale!" protested Heyes. "It was worth every cent so I could ride after you!"

"Seeing Michele safely on her way home was worth every cent too," replied Kid.

The unspoken thought, _so Kid could ride after Heyes_ , hung between the partners as they reached the stand of trees. Heyes' shoulders slumped. The older Kansan pulled the black gelding to a stop in the dappled shadows. Kid reined in his horse as well, bringing his big animal to a halt.

"You don't have to keep riding with me Kid." The genius continued, finally stating the thought behind his question about money. "Nobody would know you in New Orleans, you could have a nice normal life with no one shootin' at you."

"Somebody's gotta watch out for you."

Kid's steady blue eyed gaze challenged the depths of his partner's dark brown. The gaze declared _I'm not leaving you_ in no uncertain terms. Instead of providing the reassurance that Kid intended, his unspoken words seemed to make matters worse.

"I should never have brought you into the outlaw business," groaned Heyes.

The brooding, guilty expression on Heyes' face was one Kid recognized. He'd seen his partner get in this kind of mood before. What triggered the guilt fest this time? Despite Kid's continuous objections, Hannibal Heyes still felt responsible for leading younger cousin his astray.

"Would you quit it!" snapped Kid.

"You were seventeen…"

"Yeah," interrupted Kid. "I was seventeen when I followed you out of Texas into a life of crime."

Heyes flinched as if Kid had struck him. The normally patient fast draw had never agreed with his partner before. Being an outlaw was never some calculated get rich quick scheme. When life forced them in separate directions, they'd both gotten in trouble. Heyes with the law, Kid with a gun. Becoming wanted men hadn't been a Hannibal Heyes plan, nor a Jedidiah Curry plan. The brawny younger man continued relentlessly. He had to make his cousin understand. If Heyes was guilty, so was Kid.

"As I recall, you wanted to stay in San Francisco five years ago," reminded Kid. He used nearly the same words his partner had moments earlier. "Nobody would know you in San Francisco, you could have stayed, started another gang or ran cons with Silky or maybe got an honest job. You coulda had a nice normal life…"

"That's not the same thing!" objected Heyes.

"It is too!" insisted Kid. "You followed me out of San Francisco into a life of crime."

A sharp inhalation was followed by dark eyes narrowing in annoyance, but Kid glared right back Heyes. Kid knew what brought his cousin to Texas all those years ago. The same emotion had led Kid to follow Heyes into Devil's Hole, and years later to walk away from his partner in San Francisco with some foolish comment about the city being uncivilized. That emotion also led his partner to follow Kid out of San Francisco despite Heyes' obvious love for the city. The sound of evergreen branches rustled in the soft breeze as Heyes exhaled. The wiry man sat up straighter in his saddle, squaring his shoulders. A warm smile spread across his face. Kid answered with a grin.

"You're right. I shoulda known better," smirked Heyes. "I can't imagine what I was thinking."

"You weren't thinking," chuckled Kid.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Do you really want to camp here?"

Kid glanced back up the incline. Heyes was still mounted. The tactician had brought his horse down the slope from the trail and stopped at the first stony ledge. An orange sliver of the setting sun peered over the stony outcropping above Heyes' head. Shadows covered the rock face behind him. Light was fading fast. His partner tilted his black hat back. Although his Heyes' face was in the shadows, Kid could see the planner's lips tighten into a frown.

"There's something…"

"Somethin' what?" demanded Kid.

"I don't know," answered Heyes. His shoulders shrugged. "Just something strange about this place. I can feel it."

Kid snorted in disbelief. He trusted his partner's instincts, but he didn't pick up any sense of danger in this place. Kid had led his horse further down the slope, closer to the water. Something splashed in the river behind him. Kid didn't bother to turn at the small noise. The deep eddies as the stream turned beneath the cottonwoods probably held fish. The splash wasn't a worrisome noise, just a sign of life. A good noise in Kid's opinion.

"This place has water, grazing for the horses, wood and a flat rocky area suitable for a campfire," pointed out Kid. "The only thing strange about this spot is that there isn't anyone already here."

"We haven't seen anybody since we left town," reminded Heyes.

"Right," replied Kid. "Then it's settled, we're camping here tonight."

The sinewy former outlaw turned back to the bay he'd been riding. Kid began to loosen the cinches on the tired creature's saddle. Behind him, Kid heard his partner dismount. Light footsteps followed by clomping hooves announced Heyes' approach.

"Don't you hear the music?" called Heyes' soft voice.

"What?"

Kid's big hands stilled. He looked over his shoulder at his partner. The wind whistled, fluttering the leaves on the cottonwoods.

"There!" Heyes raised a finger beside his ear. "Don't you hear it?"

"The only thing I hear besides you yammering is water splashing and the wind blowing."

"No," insisted Heyes. "There's a flute playing too."

"Wouldn't we see someone playing a flute if they were close enough for you to hear them?"

Heyes didn't say anything for a moment. Kid glanced around. The trail above them was flat ground for miles in every direction. Scrub brush and small rocks didn't leave anyone hiding room. The slope they were now on had a jumble of rocks up by the road and a stand of trees by the river. The sliver of sunlight peeking over the rocks beyond his partner narrowed. There was really only one place for anyone to hide.

"Do you want me to go look on the other side of the cottonwoods?"

For a moment, Kid thought his cousin might take him up on his offer. Then Heyes shook his head. The shrewd man turned to his horse and began to loosen the straps holding his bedroll and packages.

"Don't be ridiculous, it musta been the wind," chuckled Heyes. "Nobody can stand in water that deep and play a flute too."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"That's better."

Kid sighed in contentment as he scraped the last of the dry dust from his clothes and exposed skin. He stepped back towards the campsite and held the long handled dry brush out towards his partner.

"Do you want to brush off the trail dust?" Kid offered.

"Nah, I did a quick wash up when I got the water for the coffee."

"I can finish cooking."

The fire crackled in the darkness. A warm circle of light enveloped the two men. On the other side of the glowing flames, his partner sat stirring the contents of the frying pan. The smell of beans and bacon frying set Kid's mouth to watering.

"Finish cooking. Is that what you call it?" teased Heyes. "You sure finished the last meal you cooked, burned those biscuits to a crisp…"

"You didn't complain while you were eating 'em," retorted Kid.

"I never complain to the cook." grinned Heyes. "Even if he can't cook."

"I can cook!"

"Not tonight," smirked Heyes. "Supper's ready."

Heyes pulled the frying pan away from the fire and gestured towards Kid's gear. His bedroll was spread out on the soft ground. The gleaming Colt lying on Kid's blanket reflected the flickering flames. His brown hat rested on top of his saddle at the far end of the blanket. The edge of his tin plate was visible from his open saddlebags.

"Get your plate," urged Heyes.

Kid strode a few quick steps across the camp to stand on the soft dirt where his bedroll was laid out. He picked up his tin dish and held it out towards his partner. Kid pulled his plate back as Heyes started to scoop out a third heaping spoonful. The hungry man settled back on his blanket while Heyes scraped the other half of their supper into his own dish. For a few minutes, the only sounds were the scraping of spoons across plates, the snap and pop of sparks from the fire, and the low hoot of an owl from the cottonwoods. It wasn't until Kid's plate was nearly empty that he spoke again.

"If we're sleeping rough again tomorrow night, we oughta stop riding earlier," suggested the practical man. "I should be able to fetch us up a jackrabbit or something if it's light enough to see."

"Based on the map I saw this morning at the stage depot, we'll reach the crossroads tomorrow," informed Heyes. "Depending upon which way we go, we should be in a town before sundown."

Kid looked across at his partner.

"Do we have enough money to stay in town?"

"Sure, if we can get a room for two dollars or less," nodded Heyes. "The forty-seven cents is enough to get me into a poker game…"

Kid's eyes widened as the significance of the amounts registered.

"You mean you don't have _any_ money?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"What took you so long?"

"Checked the tethers on the horses before I washed up the dishes."

Kid strode up the slope from the edge of the stream carrying the frying pan, spoons and tin plates. Heyes sipped the last of his coffee. Flames danced in the firelight reflected in his dark eyes. The man of action settled the damp cookware to dry on the flat rocks surrounding the fire. Kid reached inside his lightweight brown jacket and withdrew crumpled paper and coins from his inside coat pocket. He held the money out towards Heyes.

"Here," urged Kid. "You'll get a better start at a poker game with all of it. We can get a hotel room after you win some more."

"You got a lot of confidence in me Kid," murmured Heyes. "Might not win."

"Phhht. That'll be the day."

Heyes didn't move to take the money. The long legged blond knelt down beside his cousin and thrust the last of their hard earned money towards him. Still Heyes didn't lift a finger to take the money.

"What's wrong?"

The former safe cracker set his empty coffee cup down and shrugged his shoulders. Heyes lifted his hands upwards on either side of his shoulders in a common gesture.

"Taking all your money feels like I'm robbing you," muttered Heyes.

"Better not let the Governor know," chuckled Kid.

Heyes' lips quirked up a bit at Kid's joke. Kid swift hand shot out and snatched his partner's nearest hand. He shoved the money into Heyes' hand and tightened his grasp slightly, closing Heyes' narrow tapered fingers over their combined wealth.

"This isn't a robbery," corrected Kid. "This is us, being partners."

Heyes stared at his fisted hand in surprise. Kid sat down on his blanket and began pulling his boots off.

"Kid," whispered Heyes. "I..."

"Do you mind taking first watch?" Kid interrupted.

The muscular man's attempt to forestall any sentimental claptrap seemed to work. Heyes tucked the crumpled bills and coins into his vest pocket. Kid placed his boots next to his holster and leaned his head back against his saddle. He stretched and flexed his feet, wiggling his toes, loosening muscle tension.

"We haven't seen anyone since leaving town this morning," reminded his talkative partner. "We don't need a watch tonight."

"We always need a watch," objected Kid. "Wake me at midnight."

"What for? That owl?"

"No, owls don't bother me."

Kid reached for his floppy brown hat. He placed his hat over his eyes and yawned.

"Invisible flute players, now that's a worry," teased Kid.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Mmmph."

Kid ran his tongue across his teeth and smacked his lips again. He pushed his hat off to one side and blinked in the early morning sunlight. A striped blanket that hadn't been on his chest when he fell asleep last night told him his partner had been up in the night. He pushed the extra blanket away as he sat up.

"You didn't wake me," grumbled Kid.

Beside him, Heyes was rolled over and curled up on his side facing the river. Kid blinked in surprise at the faint carving in the stone beyond his cousin. When they arrived last night it was too dark to see the line drawing etched into the rock, but the humpbacked musician was clearly visible in the morning light.

"Well I'll be," whispered Kid.

A grin spread across his face. His partner slept on, undisturbed by his low voice.

"I guess maybe there mighta been someone playing the flute last night, although I don't know how you ever heard him."

Kid padded down to the stream in his socks. He knelt at the water's edge to fill the battered old coffee pot. The clear shallow water here was cool, but not too cold. Kid looked towards the deeper water beneath the cottonwoods. Exposed roots along the embankment sank into the dark river. The idea of a quick swim was irresistible. Kid set the pot on a nearby rock and stripped off his clothing. He shivered as he waded through the shallows towards the murky deeper water. Mud crumbled beneath his toes as he reached the edge of the drop off. Kid took a deep breath and jumped. He surfaced a moment later further upstream, breathing hard at the shock of the colder water in the depths. A chittering noise made him turn his head.

"Was that you I heard splashing last night?" grinned Kid.

The otter gave him a mischievous look before it swirled in a tight circle and dove beneath the water again. Kid swam towards the place where the creature had disappeared.

"Don't move!"

Kid's legs lowered, but his feet couldn't find bottom. He swished his arms, treading water.

"I said don't move!"

Kid heard the click of a pistol hammer being cocked. He turned his head to look at the bleary eyed man approaching.

"Be still! I don't wanna shoot you!"

"Heyes, if I don't move I'll sink like a rock," objected Kid. "Now what do you think you're doing?"

"Saving your life!" declared Heyes.

"I don't need saving!"

"There's a snake in the water with you."

"There aren't any snakes here!"

"Look out! It's coming up right in front of you!"

The water swirled in front of Kid's face. A slick round brown head crested the stream's surface. The playful mammal smirked at Kid. Another smaller head bobbed up, followed by two more baby otters.

"What kind of monster is that?"

Disbelief and confusion were evident in Heyes' voice. He rubbed a hand across his eyes. Kid watched the lithe twisting creatures in front of him spin, dive down again and race off, leaving rippling trails behind them.

"That wasn't a snake!" realized Heyes.

"And it wasn't a river monster either!" called Kid.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Five miles to Perplexed," read Heyes.

Kid tilted his head to regard the weathered post beside the crossroads. Tilted arrows marked with faded lettering pointed in every direction. A strong gust of wind shook the post.

"Do you really want to go to a town named Perplexed after this morning?" smirked Kid.

Heyes' attempt to rescue Kid was followed by some good natured teasing about river monsters. When Kid finished his swim and got dressed, he joined his partner at the campfire. Heyes had coffee brewing by then but was still rubbing sleepy eyes. It wasn't until Kid had his own cup safe in hand that he showed Heyes the carving of the humpbacked flute player. By that time, the carving was already hidden in the deep shadows of the rocky ledge. If Kid hadn't seen the carving earlier, he doubted either one of them would have ever found it.

"That's gratitude for you," huffed Heyes.

"Oh I am grateful. And I'm glad to have a partner to keep me safe," smirked Kid. "Very glad as a matter of fact."

For a moment, Heyes looked slightly mollified, but then blue eyes twinkled as Kid added the clincher.

"I'm especially glad you didn't shoot me or those poor, defenseless little otters."

Heyes' lower jaw jutted out. Brown eyes narrowed.

"The sun was shining in my eyes! It was an honest mistake," grumbled Heyes. "The trail a swimming otter makes looks..."

Kid's gentle laughter stopped Heyes' ramble in midsentence.

"Aww, forget it!"

Heyes glowered at the younger Kansan. Kid's lips curled up in a grin, but decided now was not the time for more teasing. They needed to get moving. A big hand gestured towards the wobbly signpost.

"Crippled Creek is seven miles," read Kid.

"Not an auspicious name for a town," grumbled Heyes. He pointed to the west. "Golden Glen is eight miles."

"Golden Glen it is," agreed Kid.

The partners urged their horses westward. Behind them, the wind picked up. A flutelike sound echoed through the crossroads. The signpost spun circles wildly in its loose hole before settling to a stop, the arrows tilted askew. The wind laughed as the arrow labeled Perplexed 5 mi pointed after Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Who would have thought I'd get a job just for complainin' that a signpost needs fixin'?" murmured Kid.

Heyes scooped up the loose bills and coins from the green felt poker table. The other players had already departed, seeking consolation at the bar, leaving the partners alone.

"Coming to Perplexed was good luck," grinned Heyes.

Nimble fingers divided the money into two piles. Heyes pushed one small pile of bills towards Kid. He kept a smaller pile of bills and loose coins for himself.

"Don't say that! You'll jinx us," grumbled Kid as he tucked his portion into his inside coat pocket.

"Let's get a hotel room and some supper," urged Heyes. "You can complain all you want over a steak dinner."

"Eight dollars won't last long with steak dinners, hotel rooms and livery fees," warned Kid.

"We've got more than eight dollars," reminded Heyes.

"Really? How much more?" At Heyes' expansive wave of his hand, Kid added, "Exactly."

"Eight dollars and three cents," admitted Heyes.

Kid rolled his eyes. Chairs scraped against the floor as the two men stood up. The partner's sauntered across the room towards the saloon's swinging doors. Heyes' eyes narrowed to a squint as he stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight. Kid followed. Sharp blue eyes scanned the streets for trouble. Heyes reached for his hat as he continued to walk.

"Oh no," groaned Kid.

Heyes abruptly stopped walking. Kid did not. He thumped into his partner. Heyes' hat tumbled from his hands into the street as the partners did a hurried two step on the wooden walkway to regain their balance.

"What's wrong?" hissed Heyes.

"We've been spotted."

"By who?" demanded Heyes. His neck twisted to the left and then back to the right, searching for danger. "Sheriff? Bounty hunter? Bannerman…"

"No, worse!" declared Kid. A big hand pointed at the svelte brunette standing by the stage depot across the street. "George! She always gets us in trouble!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	2. Perplexed?

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Chapter 2: Perplexed?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Kid, Heyes," breathed George.

Delight lit up the trim brunette's eyes. The empty stage depot platform suddenly didn't feel quite so lonely. Georgette Sinclair waved, her hand high above her head.

"What are you doing in New Mexico Territory?" murmured George.

Kid saw her first. George swallowed a chuckle at her friends' flustered reaction, the sight of her stopped them in their tracks. She lowered her arm, pausing to adjust the feathered blue hat on her dark curls with a little smirk.

"Has it really been five years since I saw them last?" murmured George. She knew Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes wouldn't be using their real names in Perplexed. "I wonder if they're still using the names Timothy O'Malley and Orville Weston? Or maybe something else now?"

George stepped out into the quiet street. The only other person visible was a man further down the street lighting a lantern outside the hotel. The sleek narrow skirt of her dark blue travelling suit swayed from side to side as she made her way towards the partners. Her sharp ears picked up some of their hurried words as she neared them. It almost sounded as if they were arguing.

"Not always," insisted Heyes.

"Last time, you nearly drowned," hissed Kid. "The time before that I got arrested!"

"Kid, you're always getting arrested," smirked Heyes.

Heyes stepped from the boardwalk into the dusty road, eagerly striding forward to meet her. George flashed a bright smile of welcome. She was totally unprepared for the greeting she received.

"My hat!" Heyes howled. His outstretched arms, fingers spread wide, pointed at her feet. "You stepped on my hat!"

"What?"

The irate man's slender arms gestured up and down.

"Why didn't you look where you were going?"

George looked down. In the rapidly darkening twilight, it was hard to identify the piece of dust covered black fabric that peeked from beneath the edge of her skirt. The fashionable woman took an involuntary step backwards. The flattened object might have been a hat. Maybe. George blurted out the first thought that came to mind.

"Surely that's not the same old hat you were wore in San Francisco?"

Her words hung in the air between the three friends. Heyes' eyes widened. He sucked in a deep breath, but Kid answered her question.

"He's been going to the same hat maker for years, gets the same style, the same color, every time," Kid's quiet voice explained. "That's the 1880 version."

George looked from Heyes to Kid in bewilderment. Wary blue eyes gazed at her. George's smile faltered. Was something wrong? Her friend didn't seem quite so pleased to see her. Heyes bent down and retrieved the black felt. His smoldering eyes focused solely on his hat. George could hear indistinct muttering as Heyes snapped the hat against his thigh to shake the dust off. Talented fingers smoothed the felt and caressed each concho on the hatband as he ensured the fastenings was still secure.

"But it's 1881," reminded George. "Shouldn't you have a hat that doesn't look five years old? Or worse?"

Kid shrugged his shoulders. Heyes placed his hat upon his head and glared at her.

"A good hat is meant to last a while," retorted Heyes. "As long as people don't go stomping on 'em."

George's dark eyes narrowed. She placed her hands on her hips and glared right back at the partners.

"It sounds as if you care more about that old hat than you do me," she huffed indignantly. "Is this how you greet an old friend?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Now George," placated Heyes. "We were just surprised to see you. Last we heard you had gone to Boston. We apologized…"

"Apologized more than once," interrupted Kid. "And we're trying to make up for hurting your feelings by buying you dinner."

Kid's long legs strode quickly past her. The heels of his dust covered boots thudded against the wooden steps and up onto the boardwalk. Light from the window in the doorway shone upon his face. He grasped the diner's doorknob and turned back to face her.

"Just don't forget our names," cautioned Kid.

"Yeah," added Heyes as he stopped beside her. "We don't know Sheriff Hobson and we'd like to keep it that way."

George batted her dark eyelashes and smiled ever so sweetly. Heyes extended an arm. The one time con woman placed a white gloved hand on the dark haired man's sleeve. George looked upwards at the tall blond standing by the door. Hard times had caused the sweet boy she'd known so long ago to become an outlaw, but George knew the persona of a wanted man, a dangerous fast draw, was just a cover for the real Jedidiah Curry. Or Thaddeus Jones.

"Of course not Kid," replied George. She paused, placed a fingertip to the side of her face and continued in an innocent tone. "I mean Mr. Smith."

"I'm Smith," hissed Heyes. "He's Jones!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"The diamond on the ring Remy gave me was real," answered George in a soft voice. "I got a good price for it in Saint Louis. The proceeds paid for the rest of my trip east."

The attentive woman noted Heyes eyebrows arched upwards at her words. A basket of freshly baked dinner rolls wafted a yeasty aroma from the center of the small, round table. Neither man had reached for the food since the friendly waitress brought the basket and left with their dinner orders. George was sure she'd heard Kid's stomach growl. And Heyes' nose kept twitching. He was thinner than she remembered. Had they been eating regularly? She tugged off her white gloves and placed them in her lap before she unfolded her napkin.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to try one of these while they're still hot."

Her neatly manicured hand reached forward and plucked a roll from the basket. It wasn't until she began spreading butter across her roll that either man moved. Kid's hand beat Heyes' to the basket, but not by much.

"That stone musta brought a really good price if you've been living off that money for five years," prodded Heyes.

"Not that good," admitted George. She passed the butter dish across to Kid. "Just enough to get me started in Boston."

"What did you do in Boston?" asked Kid.

"Looked for work mostly," George sighed, her shoulders slumped. "At first, I wondered if I should go back to working cons. It's hard enough trying to make a dishonest living, but it's even harder making an honest living."

"Sounds familiar," responded Heyes in a low voice.

"Joshua."

Kid's low voice held a note of warning. George glanced around the nearly empty diner. Pans clattered and clanked from the kitchen. No one was seated near enough to hear their whispered conversation even if the room had been quiet. What was Kid worried about? She returned her gaze to Heyes' warm brown eyes and continued her story.

"But then I had a bit of good luck," smiled George.

"What kinda luck?"

"Our friend Charley and her dance troupe came touring Boston."

"Charley?" Kid's voice repeated.

George peered across the table. Kid dropped his eyes and began spreading, or re-spreading, the butter on his dinner roll. The brunette remembered, in San Francisco, her young friend had been romantically involved with the vivacious red head.

"I had a job selling tickets at the theater," explained George. "Charley saw me, she asked about you."

"You mean Charley asked about that other fella she thought she knew," Kid huffed.

The curly head remained bowed. Kid seemed intent on spreading butter into every possible crevice of his roll. George started to object. Charley had definitely known that Kid was Jedidiah Curry, but Heyes reached out and laid a hand on her forearm. George glanced at Heyes. He gave a small shake of his head. George swallowed the words she had planned to say, and jumped to the end of her story.

"Charley helped me get a better job with the theater," concluded George. She smiled proudly. "I am a working thespian."

"Huh?"

Kid's blue eyes looked up from the crumbling buttered roll in confusion. Heyes chuckled.

"You went from selling theater tickets to being part of the show?" grinned Heyes.

"You're an actress?" realized Kid.

Any additional questions were forestalled by the arrival of the waitress. Three heaping plates sizzled with pan fried steak and gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans and carrots. For a while, dinner conversation consisted of nothing more than requests to pass the salt or pepper and contented sighs. It wasn't until George scraped the last bite of mashed potatoes onto her spoon that she spoke again.

"Enough about me, what have you boys been up to lately?"

Kid's fork stopped in midair. George noted her two friends exchanged a look before Heyes began his spiel.

"Nothing much really…"

George was having none of his silver tongued blarney. Her rapid fire questions stopped Heyes in mid-sentence.

"Are you planning a heist here? Do I need to get out of town quick? And hope nobody ever realizes I know you two?"

Heyes leaned back in his seat and spread his hands wide. His gesture alerted George. Behind her, George heard the soft footfalls of the approaching waitress. Heyes flashed a dimpled smile and chuckled as if she had just told him a joke.

"No, nothing like that. We're working for an archeological expedition that is researching native culture," explained Heyes. He gestured eastwards as the waitress started picking up dishes. "For example last night we camped out by some cottonwood trees and found a carving of a man playing a flute..."

"Did you two camp out along Calle Pintado?"

The waitress stood motionless, the dish she held hovered above the table.

"I'm not from around here," answered Heyes. "I don't know what the place is called…"

"About a mile southeast of the crossroads," Kid interrupted with a description. "Three big cottonwoods at a bend in the river. The carving is under a ledge."

Kid's words brought a strange expression to the woman's face. She resumed clearing the table.

"Most locals won't go anywhere near that carved rock," confided the woman.

"Really? Why?"

"Silly superstitions if you ask me," replied the waitress, but she didn't elaborate. The woman straightened up balancing the heavily laden tray of dishes on her hip. "Now does anyone want dessert? We've got chocolate cake with fudge frosting."

"Mmm, my favorite," smiled George. She batted her eyelashes and glanced from Heyes to Kid. "Surely an apology includes something sweet?"

Kid sighed.

"The lady would like a slice of cake."

"You're not going to make me eat dessert by myself, are you?" replied George with just a hint of a pout.

This time Heyes sighed.

"Three pieces of cake."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Two dollars?" The rising inflection in Heyes' voice sounded as if that were an exorbitant amount. "For only one bed?"

George set her hatbox on the counter before them. After dinner, her friends had returned with her to the stage depot to collect her luggage. Their gear remained with their horses in the livery. Heavily laden, the gentlemen escorted her to this tiny hotel. The only hotel in town. Behind them, a thump told her Kid dropped her large valise on the floor next to the box Heyes carried. A second, softer thump was her carpet bag.

"Our rooms have one bed big enough for two to share," answered the clerk. The man's narrow chin jutted out. "Iffen you want two beds, that will be two rooms, and that costs extry."

George noted the subtle glance Heyes gave Kid. The younger man shrugged.

"One room will do, my partner and I can share."

"Two dollars," repeated the desk clerk. "Payable in advance."

"In advance?" echoed George.

Her nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply. Kid stepped up to the counter and started to reach for his wallet, but Heyes placed his hand against his partner's arm.

"Thaddeus, you paid for dinner and dessert," reminded Heyes. "I'll pay for the room."

Kid noticed her consternation first. He turned away from the desk and leaned his elbows against the counter. The clerk stepped away from the desk towards the keys hanging from the back wall.

"What's wrong George?"

Kid spoke in a low undertone, but the slight tilt of Heyes' head told George he heard Kid's question.

"Two dollars in advance is what's wrong!" whispered George. "The bank had already closed by the time my stage arrived. I won't be able to get more money until tomorrow morning."

Kid's blue eyes narrowed, but he didn't ask any more questions as the clerk now turned back with a room key.

"And my partner's sister will also need a room," continued Heyes in a smooth tone.

Deft fingers placed three paper dollars on the counter along with an assortment of coins, before Heyes tucked the thin wallet back inside his vest.

"Funny," snorted the clerk as he turned back to the wall for another key. "With your dark coloring, I woulda thought the lady was your sister."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Alone at last," smirked George.

Heyes opened the door. She swept inside the tiny room and placed her hatbox on the nightstand next to the painted white wrought iron bed frame. Kid followed, lugging her heavy valise and carpet bag. Heyes entered last carrying her box. Kid settled her luggage near the bureau while George pulled off her white gloves and laid them next to her hatbox. Heyes looked around for a moment and finally moved to set her box in the straight back chair by the window. The thirty-one year old arched his back and stretched after he released the heavy box. George decided it was time to resume her thwarted interrogation from earlier.

"Now tell me boys," demanded George. "What are the two of you really doing in New Mexico Territory? I can't believe the two most famous outlaws in the west are casing a bank in the little town like Perplexed."

"We're not casing the bank!" huffed Kid.

The partners exchanged one of those maddening glances that meant there was something they weren't telling. Kid leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. Heyes stepped forward, a smile spreading across his face, cheeks dimpling as he came closer. He began to sweet talk her.

"Now George, it's really quite simple," soothed Heyes. "We've been working in Texas for a man called MacCreedy."

The smile that had begun to turn up the corners of her lips disappeared. George blinked. The name was like a cold bucket of water being splashed in her face.

"The two of you know Patrick J. MacCreedy?" snorted George in disbelief.

Only a bare twitch of one eyebrow showed how startled Heyes was by her words. George might have thought she imagined it, if she hadn't known Kid so well. George remembered Clem saying once that Jed got real quiet and still when there was something dangerous about to happen. What was dangerous here?

"What makes you think I meant Patrick J. MacCreedy?" schmoozed Heyes. "I'm sure the world is full of men named MacCreedy."

"Not in Texas," huffed George. "What did he hire you to steal?"

"He didn't…," faltered Heyes.

George fumed as she turned back to her hatbox. She lifted the lid and withdrew a book. Thumping the book on the bedcovers, she began to unpin her feathered blue hat.

"Friends don't lie to each other!" she continued in annoyance.

Heyes didn't answer. As she took off her hat, George saw Heyes staring at the book with an odd expression on his face. His fingers reached out and traced the gilt letters of the title, _Oliver Twist_.

"We're not lying to you George," Kid backed up his partner. "MacCreedy asked us to retrieve some stolen property…"

"Oh don't tell me! MacCreedy asked the two of you to go to Mexico and get that stupid bust of Caesar back from Senor Armendariz!"

George placed her hat in the box and angrily stabbed the hatpins into the blue felt. The feathered adornment trembled. George looked up to see both Kid and Heyes staring at her.

"How did you know about the bust?" whispered Heyes.

George closed her eyes in dismay. She sat back weakly on the mattress and fluttered her fingers in front of her face, trying to stir the still air.

"Why would you boys work for MacCreedy?" wailed George. "Isn't being an outlaw dangerous enough?"

"Working for MacCreedy wasn't..."

Heyes voice was cut off by Kid's objection.

"Oh it was dangerous all right."

George's dark eyes snapped open. The slim woman sucked in a deep breath and stood up. Leaning forward, her lips curled back in a sarcastic sneer.

"What are you doing here?" huffed George. "And this time, why don't you tell me the truth!"

"We're trying to go straight."

George blinked in surprise at Kid's quiet words. It was the last thing she had expected.

"Kid!" hissed Heyes. "We're not supposed to tell…"

"We promised we wouldn't tell about the amnesty deal with the Governor," agreed Kid. "But he said a year, and it's been over a year."

"Why? Why are you going straight now?" asked George. "You're the most successful…"

"Successful? Hah!" Heyes barked a short, sharp laugh. He sank down to sit on the foot of her bed. "We've got wanted poster's saying we're worth ten thousand dollars each! Is that success?"

"Those posters also say we're wanted dead or alive even though we've never killed anyone," added Kid.

"We were so careful, never shot anyone, not once," sighed Heyes.

"Is that why you two decided to quit?"

"Dead or alive is a pretty good motivation," admitted Heyes with a rueful smile.

"Twenty years behind bars is another," added Kid.

Heyes' hand traced the binding of her book.

"But it wasn't until that last train…"

"There was a lady on that last train, she had a paper about amnesty," continued Kid. "We asked Lom to talk to the Governor for us..."

"Lom? Who's Lom?" interrupted George.

"Sheriff in Porterville, a friend of ours," explained Kid. "He spoke to the Governor for us."

George pursed her lips, thinking. She'd heard a lot of political hoopla about government amnesty offers, but never met anyone who actually tried for amnesty. And she'd never heard of anyone that ever really got amnesty. Heyes soft voice jarred her thoughts.

"When you're done with this book, may I borrow it?"

"Huh?"

The abrupt change in conversation startled George, she looked at Heyes in confusion. His dark eyed gaze remained on the book upon her bed. George turned back to Kid. The compassion evident on her young friend's made her swallow.

"Does that book have anything to do with why you were so moody yesterday?" prodded Kid.

"Maybe." Heyes looked up at his partner. "The mercantile had a copy for sale yesterday."

Kid's gaze prompted Heyes to continue.

"I started reading Oliver Twist a while back, but I didn't finish it," admitted Heyes. "When I saw the book, it got me thinking about the story again."

"You're lucky you didn't finish it," snorted Kid.

"When did you read it?"

"Years ago. Mr. Peterson assigned it." Kid frowned at the memory. "He seemed a mite upset when I told him the workhouse reminded me of Valparaiso on a good day."

"Some folks can't bear the truth." Heyes lips crinkled up in distaste.

George knew a little about Valparaiso. Clem had mentioned the disreputable orphanage once, but Kid and Heyes had never said anything to her about the place. George tried to draw Heyes out.

"Did this book upset you because it reminded you of the Home For Waywards?"

"No," admitted Heyes. He shrugged. "I thought Fagin sounded a bit like me…"

"You're nothin' like Fagin!" two voices objected in unison.

Kid and George exchanged a surprised glance with each other.

"He was the criminal mastermind behind a gang of thieves," reminded Heyes. "Leading children into a life of crime…"

"Pfft. If anything, that Oliver character reminded me of you, and you never led a _little child_ into a life of crime," objected Kid in a soft voice. "The way I see it, Jim Plummer was your Fagin."

Heyes burst out in laughter. His somber mood vanished in an instant.

"Jim Plummer?" objected Heyes. "He wasn't any mastermind! And I don't think he ever cared what happened to his gang, or he wouldn't have run out on us!"

Kid's laugh joined his partner's. George placed her hands against her hips. She didn't like not being in on the joke, whatever it was.

"Who is Jim Plummer?"

George's confused question just made her friends laugh harder.

"Someone I hope you never meet," chuckled Heyes.

Heyes' fingers traced the edge of her book. He lifted the cover.

"No! Don't…"

His hand froze. Beyond him, Kid's mouth dropped opened in surprise. With two fingers, Heyes reached inside the carved out book. He lifted the derringer up for all to see.

"Oh George, I always knew you were dangerous," grinned the former outlaw. "But why are you carrying a thing like this?"

"Some folks rob trains and banks," answered George. "Other folks rob stages…"

"You?" blurted out Kid. "You're robbing stage coaches?"

"No," huffed George in an affronted tone. "You know me better than that! I _ride_ stage coaches! A lot!"

"So why the gun?" Heyes dangled the derringer above the bed.

"Because I don't have Kid Curry watching my back!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A short while later, George leaned her head against the doorframe as she watched her friends stride down the corridor to their own room. Her sharp ears heard Kid.

"It don't seem right that we've told George about trying for amnesty, but still haven't told Clem yet."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Kid, Heyes?" George rapped softly on the door to her friend's room the next morning.

Heyes pulled the door open. He leaned to one side, his black clad arm pressed against the wall. Buff colored pants neatly tucked into his black boots. Early morning sunshine streamed into a room very much like her own, wrapping him in a bright glow. Heyes flashed a dimpled grin at her. George's own smile brightened.

"You changed your clothes," realized George. "But how? You didn't have any luggage last night."

"Kid went to the livery for our saddlebags," explained Heyes. "He left earlier this morning for that signpost fixing job."

"Have you already had breakfast?" George couldn't keep the dismay from her voice. "I really do hate to eat alone."

"No, Kid left me sleeping." Heyes rubbed a hand across his stubbled chin. "But I can't go, he didn't bring my shaving gear."

"If you haven't eaten already, then have breakfast with me."

Heyes hesitated.

"My treat," insisted George. With a teasing grin, she added, "You and your whiskers are both invited."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Thaddeus practiced by shooting rattlesnakes?" Heyes laughed.

"Didn't your partner tell you anything about his time in Amarillo?"

"Not much," admitted Heyes. "Thaddeus can be very closemouthed when he wants to be."

Heyes leaned forward. The warm smile was followed by an even warmer voice.

"For instance, he never told me about meeting you."

George dabbed her napkin against her lips. Breakfast, talking about the old days in Texas with Kid and Clem had been enjoyable. Attention from a handsome man was even better. But now, the clock on the wall behind Heyes pointed towards nine. The bank should be open by now. George scooted her seat backwards. Heyes was up and at her side in an instant.

"Let me help you," insisted the dark haired Kansan in a voice all the patrons of the diner could hear. In a lower voice for George alone, he added, "You can't leave yet. You haven't paid the bill!"

"I've got to go to the bank first," whispered George. "Wait here, have another cup of coffee, I'll be right back."

Heyes sucked in a deep breath.

"You don't have enough money to pay for breakfast?"

"I will," retorted George. "Just wait."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Seriously?"

George's eyes widened at the sign on the bank's door. _Gone Fishing_. It would be funny, if she didn't need to collect the money her stage manager was supposed to wire. She glanced over her shoulder at the diner. The brunette wasn't looking forward to having to ask her friend to pay for his meal after she had invited him to breakfast. It was just plain embarrassing.

"Knowing Heyes, I'll never hear the end of this," sighed George.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Yes Ma'am, my friend will be right back."

George's sharp ears heard Heyes speaking to the waitress as she entered the diner. The brawny woman wasn't the same person from last night. Short and stout with a scowl on her face, the woman slapped down a piece of paper in front of Heyes.

"Twenty cents!" demanded the woman. "I don't got all day."

George hurried forward to join Heyes. She flashed a bright smile at her friend. Reaching into her coin purse, George eyed the last of her money. She withdrew one slim dime and laid it on top of the bill.

"Joshua, the bank wasn't open," explained George. "I know I invited you to breakfast, but I don't have another dime. Would you mind paying the lady?"

Heyes' dark eyes widened.

"Don't you have any more money?" There was a worried undertone to his question.

"Some," replied George.

She felt flustered at his intense gaze. Her friend leaned in closer.

"Pay it," urged Heyes.

"You don't have ten cents," realized George.

The brunette hurriedly reached into her coin purse and dumped out the last of her money. Copper pennies rolled across the table. George added five cents and a piece of lint to the bill. Heyes reached into his wallet and extracted three similar coins.

"Eighteen cents," smiled Heyes. "My apologies, but we'll have to pay you the rest when my partner returns…"

The fuming waitress wasn't having any of it.

"Hobson!" called the woman in a loud voice. "We got us a couple of deadbeats here!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Sheriff, surely there must be something we can do," pleaded George.

"Yup," nodded Hobson. "You can pay the bill."

"But the bill is twenty cents," repeated George. Surely he could understand. "My friend and I have only got eighteen cents between us."

The snub nosed face frowned. The sheriff pursed his lips and inhaled. Buttons on his double breasted shirt strained across his chest. Narrow hips led downwards to even narrower legs, tucked into tiny black boots.

"When my partner gets here, he'll settle the bill," smiled Heyes.

The sheriff narrowed his eyes. He exhaled, a huff of disbelief setting the hairs of his bushy mustache flying.

"First you and the lady buy food you can't pay for, and now you're spendin' some other fella's money?"

"This is all just a simple misunderstanding," smiled Heyes. "Surely you're not going to arrest us for two cents!"

"Son, you've got a choice," growled Hobson. "You can take that pretty grin of yours to jail peaceably or you can go to jail missin' a few teeth."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Oh no, no, no," babbled George. "This isn't right!"

"You two just set here a spell," directed Hobson. "I'm gonna go finish my breakfast."

"I don't want to sit!"

The barred metal door clanged shut. A key twisted in a lock, and Sheriff Hobson turned away leaving George standing. The front door of the sheriff's office slammed shut behind the lawman. The prisoners were alone. George's chin quivered. She looked across the jail to the adjacent cell. Heyes sat on the cot, elbows propped on knees. Her friend stared vacantly at the bars between them.

"You always get me in trouble!" sniffled George.

Heyes blinked in surprise. He looked up, his perplexed eyes focused on her.

"Me? What did I do?"

"The first time I ever went to a jail was because of you!" reminded George.

"You were making a witness statement," spluttered Heyes.

"Then! But this time you got me arrested!" wailed George.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	3. Partners

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Chapter 3: Partners

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"I think it's the other way around," snapped Heyes. " _You_ got me arrested!"

"But, the bank…"

George started to argue, but Heyes didn't listen. The slender man stood up and started pacing across the floor. His tirade continued.

"There I was, peaceably packing up, getting ready to leave town when my partner returns, but oh… no!" huffed Heyes. He raised both hands and raked them through his dark hair in frustration. "You had to come and invite me to breakfast!"

"Most folks would be happy to be invited to breakfast!"

"Not if it includes getting thrown in jail!"

Heyes reached the opposite wall, stopped, and lowered his arms. A quick pivot about face and he stalked back towards George.

"How was I supposed to know you didn't have any money?" protested George. The fashionable woman stepped closer to the bars. "You big spender! You paid for my hotel room last night!"

Heyes stopped, mere inches from the beautiful woman standing on the other side of the bars. Dark brown eyes glared at George. She huffed in exasperation and glared right back at him.

"No good deed goes unpunished," snarked Heyes.

Her elegant hands fisted against hips in a familiar gesture of ire. George leaned closer to the bars. A vein throbbed against her temple. The beat matched the pulse of Heyes' pounding head.

"I didn't ask for your help!" retorted George.

"Is that all the thanks I get?"

"You're welcome!"

Heyes saw George's chin quiver for an instant before she turned in a swift rustle of skirt and petticoats. She moved away from Heyes. Reaching the cot, the slim woman sank down fanning her hand in front of her face. George leaned sideways. She rested her body upon the hard narrow bars that separated their two cots. Her forlorn expression immediately made the sensitive man regret his harsh tone. Heyes lowered his voice.

"It could be worse," consoled Heyes.

The mastermind inhaled deeply and sat back down on his own cot. George peeked sideways through her long dark eyelashes in disbelief.

"How!" challenged George.

Heyes remembered his first arrest. He'd been seventeen, all alone, cold and hungry and not at all sure that the Plummer gang would come back for him.

"You could be in jail by yourself."

The charmer sidled across his cot, closer to George. Heyes leaned up against the cold metal bars. The thin cotton of his black shirt pressed through the opening. The sleeve of her yellow muslin dress radiated warmth as they touched. He waggled his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

"Instead, you're here with me," smirked Heyes.

George didn't say anything for a moment. Then, a slow smile spread across her face.

"You're right," grinned George. "I'm in jail with Hannibal Heyes."

"Sssh!" hissed one of the two most wanted men in the West.

Heyes bolted upright and twisted his head, searching left and right. People visible in the street outside the sheriff's front window continued on with their business. No one came running, shouting an alarm, claiming a reward. He peeked out the tiny barred window of his cell. The alley was empty.

"We don't want anyone knowing that!" reminded Heyes. "They might arrest my partner, then who's gonna get us out?"

In the adjacent cell, George straightened up. She pulled a hatpin from her stylish blue hat. As he sat back down on his cot, she extended one slender arm through the opening between the bars and offered the sharp pointed object to him.

"We don't have to wait," urged George. "You can pick the lock. We can get out of here now, go to the bank when it opens, pay the bill, and…"

"We can't," sighed Heyes. "We have to wait for Thaddeus to get us outta here _legally_."

"I know you can pick a lock," argued George.

"You know it, but I'd rather Sheriff Hobson doesn't find out," reminded Heyes. "Our amnesty deal requires that we stay out of trouble."

Heyes leaned back against the brick wall with a sigh. He crossed his left leg so that the boot lay across his right knee. The experienced jail breaker withdrew three graduated slivers of metal from the inside seam of his boot. He flashed them in front of her face.

"If I was gonna pick a lock, I'd use these. Hatpin might snap off in the lock and then where would you be?"

"A hatpin is stronger than you might think."

Heyes chuckled in disbelief. Long, slim fingers slipped the lock picks back into their hiding place. George's lips parted in a surprised oh. She pulled her hand back. Clasping the hat pin between her palms, she gaped at him.

"You two really are trying to go straight," realized George.

"We told you that last night," replied Heyes in a puzzled tone. "Didn't you believe us?"

George pulled away from the bars. She made a show of taking the remaining pins from her hat. The fashionable woman settled the elaborate blue creation on the cot beside her and deliberately poked each pin back into the felt.

"George…," prodded Heyes.

The brunette turned back to face him. Seated sideways on the cot, she squared her shoulders and lifted up her chin.

"I wanted to," answered George. Her voice trailed off. "But then I thought it must be just another scam."

Heyes narrowed his eyes. When did George get so cynical?

"We've never tried to con you," reminded Heyes.

"I know," whispered George's voice. "But last night I heard Kid say…"

"Thaddeus!" interrupted Heyes.

"You call him Kid."

"Only when we're alone or with friends that know us, and never in a jail!"

"Fine," George pursed her lips tightly for a moment. "You and Thaddeus haven't told Clem yet, and she's your oldest and dearest friend… so I thought amnesty must be nothing but a fairy tale."

"The Governor might be playing us. Politicians can be tricky like that," admitted Heyes. He swallowed and turned away for a moment. He uncrossed his long slender legs and stretched his feet towards the outer door. "But I trust Lom. He's our friend, and he wouldn't lie to us."

"How do you and… _Thaddeus…_ know a Sheriff in Porterville?"

"Long story," Heyes' lips quirked up. "But don't worry, we'll keep our end of the bargain."

On her side of the bars, George twisted to one side, facing the doorway like Heyes. She leaned back against the brick wall. Shapely legs stretched out, exposing the edge of a ruffled white petticoat and a neatly laced black shoe. George sighed in resignation.

"Even if you have to sit in jail all morning?"

"Yeah," sighed Heyes.

For a moment there was a comfortable silence between the two friends. The only sound was the clock above the Sheriff's desk as it ticked loudly towards ten.

"How long do you suppose we have to wait for Thaddeus to get back?"

"Well, I don't know exactly when he left," hedged Heyes.

"Guess."

"We know he was gone before eight when you knocked on our door," Heyes mused.

His partner would have no reason to hurry calculated the strategist. Five miles riding his horse at a leisurely walk, time to dig a post hole, settle the sign straight, and another five mile ride back. It shouldn't take more than three hours, maybe four, estimated Heyes. A sidelong glance at the temperamental woman beside him, and he decided it would be better to call it four. If his partner arrived earlier, so much the better, but Heyes didn't want to see George's reaction if Kid was late.

"Thaddeus should be back by noon," allowed Heyes.

"Noon! What are we gonna do for the next two hours?" demanded George.

"We could always talk," coaxed Heyes. His honeyed voice lowered once more. He slouched towards the bars separating them. "George, we told you our plans last night. Now why don't you tell me yours?"

The pretty brunette glanced sideways at him. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"What do you mean?"

"George, why are you in Perplexed all alone?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"I told you," huffed George. "I'm an actress."

"Perplexed is a small town," reminded Heyes. "But a theater is sorta hard to hide."

George's lips crinkled up in a frown. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Maybe it's behind the barber shop…" continued Heyes with a smirk.

"There isn't a theater in Perplexed," snapped George.

Heyes' eyebrows raised a bit, more at her sharp tone than at the unsurprising news. He listened carefully as his friend rambled on about beautiful Boston, the art museum on Copley Square, the fashions, the theater and then, the real reason George left Boston.

"Byron, that is the director, said I'm a natural," explained George. "He invited me to join his travelling troupe."

"You left your job in Boston?"

"Mmmhmm," nodded George.

"Tell me about this Byron fella…," began Heyes.

"Director Hamelin," interrupted George.

"Hamelin?" repeated Heyes in disbelief. "What kinda name is that? Like the Pied Piper of Hamelin?"

"Pied Piper is right," groused George. Her voice hardened as she continued. "He led us all on."

"What do you mean?"

George's mouth clamped shut. She straightened her spine and sat up again. Only a little quiver along the bottom of her chin betrayed her emotion. It was a moment before she spoke.

"Five of us toured under Byron's leadership as part of the Hastie Puddin' Review, not to be confused with college productions of Hasty Pudding Theatricals," recounted George. "We performed in Poughkeepsie, Youngstown, Columbus, Terre Haute, and two shows in Independence."

Her voice trailed off, leaving only the sound of the ticking clock.

"And...," prodded Heyes.

"Things seemed to be going well at first," resumed George. "But trouble started when our performance was cancelled in Winfield Kansas."

The pretty brunette leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She took a deep breath, and then another.

"The Reverend in Winfield didn't hold with theatrical productions," smirked George. "I think he was worried we mighta competed with his tent revival."

No performances meant no money realized Heyes.

"What happened next?"

"What could we do?" shrugged George, still staring downwards. "We went to our next scheduled show. Two sold out performances in Lubbock, but Byron was robbed after he picked up receipts from the box office."

Heyes' dark eyes winced. But then George's next words set alarm bells clanging inside his head.

"Or so he said when he came back to the boarding house empty handed."

The cynicism Heyes had noted in George's voice earlier was back, with a hard edge to her tone.

"George?" Heyes' low voice invited.

"Byron kept our wages in a payroll account," George's emotionless voice chilled Heyes. "He kept a big ledger, posted earnings, and deducted expenses…"

"Payroll account?" demanded Heyes. "Do you mean Byron was holding your money?"

"He had everybody's money."

Heyes gritted his teeth together. He knew some mining towns where people were paid in script from the mining company, bought supplies at the company store, rented rooms at the company boarding house, and eventually wound up owing money to the mine owners for the privilege of working. Was that Byron's scam?

"Didn't anyone ever get paid?" demanded Heyes. He brushed his hair back from his eyes as he sat upright. "Cash in hand?"

"Of course," murmured George. "If we asked, but Byron paid for hotels, restaurants, travel. He kept the books and the money."

Heyes' jaw tightened. George had been one of the best con artist's he'd ever seen, before she went straight. How was it possible that she fell for Byron Hamelin's scheme?

"The last time I got any cash we were in Poughkeepsie," sighed George. One hand reached out, she stroked the feathered hat on the cot beside her. "I wanted to buy something special. Byron always said I looked pretty in blue."

"Byron was wrong," declared Heyes.

"Wrong about what?"

"You don't just look pretty in blue, _you're gorgeous_ in blue."

George raised her head. A soft upward curl of her lips showed her appreciation.

"Byron's got the payroll and probably the Lubbock box office receipts as well," continued George. "The next morning he was gone. All we had was a letter saying he was going to Denver to get funding for our next show and to please wait in Lubbock."

Inwardly, Heyes seethed. He wasn't angry at George, but at the man who had taken advantage of her. How many times had Hamelin pulled something like this? In a way, it reminded him of when Jim Plummer ran out on his gang with thirty thousand from their last bank heist. He knew a bunch of men that would still probably like to get their hands on that cheating scoundrel. Why wasn't George still in Lubbock? Why had she come to Perplexed?

"But you're not in Lubbock," prompted Heyes.

"No! I want our money back!" huffed George. The woman sat up straight. "I left my friends in Lubbock. Packed up and went to the stage depot. The station master remembered Byron. He went to the next town, so I bought a ticket there too!"

"What happened?"

"Byron wasn't there, but he bought a ticket on the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe all the way to Albuquerque," sighed George. "One way. The story about going to Denver was a lie."

"George, following after him is dangerous…"

"I only had enough money for the stage fare to Perplexed," interrupted George. "So I wired my bank in Boston. The last of my money should have arrived here yesterday. If the bank ever opens, I can get a ticket the rest of the way to Albuquerque."

"George! Of all the hair brained schemes…"

"I can't lose him now! He'll get away!"

Footsteps sounded across the boards outside. The front door to the jail swung open. Sheriff Hobson balanced a tray in one hand and stepped into the room.

"Being in jail does have some advantages," chuckled the lawman. He knelt at the bars and pushed a plate through to George's cell and then did the same for Heyes. "Enjoy your meal."

Two pairs of brown eyes looked at the clock on the wall. The time was half past twelve. Heyes' eyes met George's. They both had the same question. Where was Kid?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Your partner can take care of himself you know," called George.

Heyes' pacing reached an abrupt stop. His nose was almost touching the brick wall. He did an about face and headed back to the bars. George was stretched out on the cot in her cell, her empty plate by the bars. Heyes' own untouched meal remained where the sheriff had placed it an hour earlier.

"Then where is he?"

"I'm sure nothing is wrong," soothed George. "He's smart enough to stay outta trouble."

Heyes snort caused George to sit up and glare at him.

"Believe me," insisted George. "He's smart! He just doesn't go telling everybody about it like you do."

Heyes stopped pacing as he reached the bars, but instead of turning to stalk back across his cell the genius stayed.

"I know he's smart. It's the staying outta trouble part I'm having a hard time believing," responded Heyes. "Trouble seems to find us! Trouble especially seems to find him!"

The sound of the sheriff's return stopped any further conversation. The lawman looked at Heyes' untouched tray, and then glanced at the slender man standing inside the cell.

"You're still gonna have to pay for the meal, even if you don't eat it."

"You're charging us for meals?"

"Ain't nothing free," replied Hobson.

"Hard boiled eggs at the saloon," objected Heyes.

"For paying customers," reminded Hobson.

The lawman bent down and picked up the dishes. Heyes blurted out the question foremost on his mind.

"Have you seen my partner?"

"No," answered Hobson. The lawman rose to stand. "Do you want me to send a posse out looking for him?"

"I don't think that will be necessary," gulped Heyes. "It's just we were supposed to be leaving today."

"You ain't leaving by way of Calle Pintado, are you?" the lawman eyeballed Heyes curiously.

Heyes remembered that the friendly waitress last night had said most locals wouldn't go anywhere near their campsite. The busy woman hadn't said much more beyond a brief mention of superstitions pertaining to the carved rock.

"We weren't planning on it," answered Heyes. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," answered Hobson. "I just don't want the Trickster sending you boys back to Perplexed again."

The lawman moved towards the door

"The Trickster?" called Heyes.

Hobson tilted his head and eyed Heyes.

"That's what I call him," answered Hobson. "Of course the natives have other names for the flute player carved into that rock. Some folks even say he's one of their Gods, but I don't know nothin' about that."

The door swung shut behind the lawman leaving Heyes gaping.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Will you please sit down!"

Heyes glanced over his shoulder at George. The pretty brunette sat on her cot with her arms wrapped around her knees. After leaving with the dishes, Hobson returned a short while later to escort them one by one to the outhouse in the alley behind the jail.

"Wearing a hole in the floor isn't gonna bring your partner here any sooner," declared George.

"No, but it might give us a head start if we have to tunnel our way outta here," retorted Heyes. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration as he walked back towards the bars. "What's taking so long?"

"Maybe he ran into that Trickster again," smirked George.

"Pphht! Do you really believe that?"

"No, but I thought it might distract you, maybe even make you laugh," smiled George in sympathy.

She swung her legs down off the cot and strode over to join him at the metal well between the two cells.

"Why don't you tell me about the real reason you two boys are going for amnesty?" cajoled George in a soft voice.

Heyes blinked his dark brown eyes. While he appreciated George's efforts to distract him, he wasn't gonna tell her about that dream, or had it been a premonition? He hadn't even told Kid about the nightmare he'd had their last Christmas at Devil's Hole.

"My partner said we needed to get out of this business," answered Heyes in a soft voice. "That's a good enough reason."

Of course the other members of the gang, Wheat especially, hadn't agreed. Eighteen-eighty started in Devil's Hole with squabbles about quitting and splitting up. Heyes still remembered Kyle's plaintive question _"How's we gonna eat, iffen we ain't got no money?"_ Heyes flat out refused to go forward with the plan for robbing the bank at Hot Sulfur Springs. The last train job was a compromise.

"Nobody's heard from you boys since a botched train job last spring," murmured George. She leaned in closer to Heyes. "What happened?"

"The robbery wasn't botched," Heyes low throaty voice objected. He leaned in closer to George. "We stopped the train according to plan."

Heyes rested his forehead against the bars. George's eyelids closed. Their lips were just a breath apart.

"Of course there was the part about opening the safe," called a soft voice.

Kid's voice was like a splash of cold water. Heyes and George both blinked at the sound from the barred window on the rear wall. Their leaning forms straightened up abruptly, away from each other. Heyes turned and grinned at his partner.

"What are you two doing in here?"

"Would you believe we got arrested for not having two cents?" answered Heyes.

"Not having any sense?" nodded Kid with a smirk. "Yeah, I'd believe that."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"What's taking so long?" hissed Heyes in a low voice.

An hour ago, his partner conferred with Sheriff Hobson on the front porch and then disappeared. Hobson resumed his rounds, leaving them still locked up. George stood at the far corner of her cell, her head tilted to peer out the window. The bank was barely visible.

"How long does it take a man to go fishing?" muttered George.

"Done properly, a good fishing trip should last all day," smirked Heyes.

"But I need to get into the bank…"

"Don't you think we need to get outta jail first?"

Clomping footsteps across the boardwalk outside announced the approach of someone, forestalling any further conversation. Sheriff Hobson, followed by a tall blond man, entered the jail. Heyes smiled in relief to see his partner. The sheriff moved to his desk and sat down. He opened a drawer and pulled out some forms before he looked up at Kid.

"You settled the bill at the diner?"

"Yes sir," Kid's quiet voice answered. "I paid the two cents."

The sheriff nodded and picked up a pen. Heyes moved closer to the locked door.

"What about the hotel?"

"I packed up both rooms, removed our property, and paid the fee for today's use."

"Wait a minute?" Heyes blinked. Another four dollars for the two hotel rooms? His hands grasped the bards in front of him. "What? Why do we have to pay for the hotel? We haven't been there…"

"You didn't check out before you left," reminded the sheriff. He looked down at the paper in front of him. "And then there is the matter of the fine."

Two voices protested at once.

"Where did you put my luggage?" demanded George.

"Fine? How much is the fine?" Heyes' voice ratcheted upwards.

The sheriff and Kid looked at the pair clinging to the bars.

"In this town, it costs money to break the law," chided the lawman. "The fine is five dollars. And there will be another two dollars for the midday meal...

"Two dollars!"

"That fee includes delivery."

Heyes started to argue, but Kid shook his head. Kid withdrew a thin wallet from his inside vest pocket. The watchful man of action nodded to George as he counted out the money for the sheriff.

"Your luggage is over at the stage depot, along with ours."

"We don't have any luggage," blurted out Heyes.

"We do now," replied Kid. "And we've also got tickets on the five o'clock stage outta town."

Heyes' mouth dropped open, but before he could ask his partner where he got that kind of money, the sheriff pushed the paper across his desk towards Kid.

"Sign here Mr. Jones."

Kid took the pen and leaned over the desk as he began to write. His nonchalant tone didn't raise any suspicions.

"Who's the law in Albuquerque these days?"

"Milt? Milt Yarberry is the town Marshall," answered Hobson. He rubbed a hand across his chin. "At least the last I heard."

Heyes caught Kid's sidelong glance. The dark haired head shook a negative response. Kid's lips pressed tight in a smile of satisfaction. He finished his signature with a flourish and straightened up.

"Now can I get my sister and my partner outta here?"

"Try and keep them both outta trouble Mr. Jones."

"Oh I do try Sheriff," Kid gave a long suffering sigh. "But some days it's harder than others."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"I sure hope that banker fella has her money," murmured Kid.

The partners leaned against the outside wall of the stage depot. Heyes crossed one leg over the other as they watched George hurry to the newly opened bank. Heyes had filled Kid in on George's predicament, but he had yet to hear what happened to his partner today.

"You sold the horses and gear," deducted Heyes.

"Had to," answered Kid. He pulled the brim of his brown hat lower, shading his eyes. "It was the only way to pay for everything so I could get you both outta jail."

"And we're all going to Albuquerque?"

"Through stage, the driver says they change horses every four hours and keep travelling night and day," answered Kid. "I figured we all needed to get far away from Perplexed. Didn't want to leave George behind."

Heyes rubbed his scratchy chin. Bristles bothered him. He eyed the luggage piled up waiting for the stage. He recognized George's valise, carpet bag, the big box he'd carried last night and her hatbox. There were three other carpet bags piled up beside her luggage.

"Which one of those bags is mine?" asked Heyes. "I want to get my razor…"

"Your bag is the one with the orange print," answered Kid. "And you can borrow my razor, it's in my brown carpet bag."

Heyes strode over to the bag Kid had pointed out. He knelt at his partner's bag and began searching for Kid's razor. The other bag, a big green overstuffed monstrosity, smelled faintly like sour milk.

"Where's my razor?" called Heyes over his shoulder.

"You musta left your razor at our last camp…"

"I did not!"

"Maybe it got untied during our ride, but it wasn't with our gear when I checked this morning," answered Kid. "And I checked again this afternoon when I packed everything up."

Heyes glanced at the carpet bag with the orange print behind Kid's. The garish print stood out, but at least it didn't smell.

"That is the ugliest carpet bag I have ever seen!"

"Be glad, you'll always be able to find your luggage. There can't be another one like it."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"That feels better."

Heyes rubbed a hand across his freshly shaved face. Kid's watchful blue eyes scanned the street. George was still inside the bank and there was no sign of the stage yet. Heyes tucked the shaving gear back in the carpet bag and resumed his stance beside his partner.

"What took so long with fixing the sign post?" Heyes prodded. "I thought you should be back well before noon."

"And I thought you were gonna be playing poker in the saloon," reminded Kid. "Not in jail."

"You couldn't fix it," chuckled Heyes.

"I fixed the sign," objected Kid.

The fast draw gestured towards the figure of a woman standing at the mercantile with her back facing them.

"But the widow Douglas came by when I was working and asked me if I would mind stopping by her house to unjam a window for her."

"So of course you had to help," nodded Heyes.

The woman at the mercantile turned. Her face lit up with a smile of recognition. Kid waved back at the young, curvaceous woman.

"Yeah, but I didn't know you and George were in jail," replied Kid. "Or I wouldn't have agreed when she asked me to stay for tea and other stuff."

"Other stuff?" Heyes' eyebrow quirked up

"We looked at pictures of her late husband," clarified Kid. "I hung her favorite above the fireplace mantle."

Heyes smiled. Yesterday, he warned George off of talking about Charley too much. Heyes thought that reminding Kid of the tiny dancer's departure, so soon after the recent departure of Michele Monet, might be hurtful to his partner, but Heyes shoulda known better. Kid's big heart had been cracked, and pieces torn away too many times to remember, but his gentle friend kept finding more reserves of care and concern to share. Across the street, the bank door slammed. George headed their way, clutching a fat purse to her chest.

"Did I tell you George thinks that fella Byron went to Albuquerque?"

"Good," growled Kid. "I'm lookin' forward to meeting him."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Thank you," whispered George.

Heyes looked at the brunette at his side with a puzzled expression. At the rear of the stage, Kid passed luggage up to the driver.

"For what?"

"For helping me," replied George. She smiled at him and glanced back at Kid. "With the two of you, I feel sure we can get the money back from Byron. I'll be able to go back to Lubbock and divide it fairly with my friends. Then I'll get a steady job and put all this behind me."

"Put what behind you?"

"I'm not really cut out to be a thespian," replied George. "I should go back to teaching piano lessons or maybe selling tickets at the theater."

She clasped his hand. One white gloved hand reached for the open carriage door, the other pressed against his fingers as she stepped up into the coach. His brown eyes looked up to the woman as she settled into her seat, and then Heyes' dark eyes turned to watch Kid as his partner threw his gaudy new carpet bag up to the driver.

"George, somedays life seems like it's nothing but trouble and the whole world is out to get you." Heyes tried to explain. "But folks like Byron, and Jim Plummer and Mr. Peterson... they can't win, unless you let them."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't let Byron steal your dreams too."

"I still don't know what you're talking about," sniffed George.

"Back in San Francisco, you said you wanted to make an honest living doing something you really enjoyed. Do it," urged Heyes. The talkative man rambled on. "I know it's hard on your own. I'm lucky, I've got a partner. Do you know he bought me a carpet bag? Thought it would help me carry my gear better. You should get one too."

"A carpet bag?" George's eyebrows arched up in surprise. "I've already got one."

"No, I meant a partner." Heyes grinned. "I know mine keeps me outta trouble."

George wriggled a bit to settle herself comfortably. She smiled sweetly.

"I've got the best partners around," reminded George. "I've got both of you."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Five miles south of town, a small brown creature scampered across the road. Sharp claws scratched at the base of the signpost. The creature retrieved a large rock, leaving a gaping hole in the ground. The wind swooshed through the crossroads as the creature disappeared into the bushes. The signpost, shuddered and swayed, but held true.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Ready for Albuquerque?" asked Heyes.

"And one of George's schemes?" grinned Kid as he climbed up onto the roof to sit with his partner. "Do I have a choice?"

The owner of the smelly carpet bag turned out to be a mother travelling with six children. Both partners gladly gave up their seats to sit on the roof. The driver cracked his whip and the stage jolted forward. The laughing wind lifted a black hat up into the air.

"My hat!"

A swift hand shot upwards and snatched the errant hat from thin air. Kid handed his partner's hat back to him.

"You know," grinned Heyes as he settled the black felt firmly on his head, "Choosing you for my partner is one of the best decisions I ever made."

"You're only saying that 'cause I got your hat back," smirked Kid.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A/N2: should you be interested, quirkbooks has an unusual article on the quirky history of the hatpin, a lady's weapon of choice…


	4. Albuquerque

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Story title: Tricksters

Chapter 4: Albuquerque

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"You shoulda let me flatten him," chided Kid.

"I have to stand up for myself," sniffed George. Her blue skirts swayed as she leaned back against the hotel room door. "You can't be fighting all my battles."

The feisty brunette shook her outstretched right hand. Her long, tapered fingers throbbed and her knuckles were red. Heyes knelt beside Byron Hamelin. The knees of Heyes' buff colored pants sank into the plush carpet of Albuquerque's finest hotel. The former outlaw reached a black clad arm towards the conniving director. Hamelin sprawled, a trickle of blood seeped from his once long, narrow, aquiline nose.

"He's out cold," smirked Heyes. "Remind me never to get you angry, you pack a mean punch."

Kid's brown hat bounced on his shoulder blades as he strode over to an ornately carved sideboard. The long legged blond pulled a bottle out from the ice bucket. Full lips pressed together, Kid gave a low whistle before setting the chilled champagne on a polished silver tray. Blue eyes glanced across the Presidential suite, taking in the damask drapes, the deeply tufted side chairs surrounding a small round parlor table, the open door to the bedroom revealed a large four poster bed.

"Your friend is living the high life," stated Kid.

"Byron's not my friend," objected George. She fanned her left hand in front her face. The white lace frothed at her throat fluttered with her anxious movement. "He proved that in Lubbock!"

Kid returned to George's side carrying the ice bucket. Heyes turned back to Hamelin and patted down the perfidious man. As Heyes lifted Hamelin's vest, Kid reached for George's uninjured hand and pressed the bucket towards her, curling her arm around the container.

"Put your hand in the ice," advised Kid. "You'll feel better."

George nodded. The slender woman shivered at the sudden chill as her bruised fingers plunged into the melting ice chips. On the floor, Hamelin moaned and blinked his eyes open as Heyes withdrew a thick envelope from the man's inside pocket. The embossed purple label proudly proclaimed _Lubbock Palace Theatre._

"What do we have here?" Heyes held the envelope high, waving it back and forth for all to see. "I thought you didn't have the theatre's receipts?"

"That's mine!" snapped Hamelin.

"No it isn't!" cried George. "That money belongs to the Hastie Puddin' Review!"

A grasping hand reached upwards. Heyes tossed the envelope to Kid. Swift hands snatched the flying object. Kid started to hand the envelope full of money to George, but her hands were full. Instead he tucked the theatre receipts into the crook of her arm.

"This is robbery!" protested Hamelin. His fine features twisted in a scowl. "You're nothing but a pack of thieves."

"Takes one to know one," retorted Heyes.

Hamelin's hand started a descent toward the wily Kansan's face, but Kid's hand shot out and grasped the man's wrist.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," advised Kid in a low growl. The tall man knelt beside his partner, forcing Hamelin's hand lower as Kid's denim clad knees reached the carpet. "And I wouldn't be calling names either."

"You ran out on us, I'm taking this money back to Lubbock," snapped George. "My friends are helping me with a citizen's arrest!"

The word _arrest_ caused all three men to turn their gaze towards George.

"Now George, don't be hasty," cajoled Heyes. His brown eyes lit up and his smile widened. "I'm sure Mr. Hamelin here has learned the error of his ways…"

"Georgette, darlin', this has all been a terrible mistake…" interrupted Byron.

The disagreeable man tried to sit up, but Kid still had a firm grasp on the man's arm.

"My only mistake was trusting you!" interrupted George.

"We don't know the law here."

Kid's soft words caused Heyes to give a little shake of his head, but Hamelin's alarmed voice spoke next.

"Georgette, let me make it up to you," beseeched Hamelin.

"How?" demanded George. She stepped closer and upended the ice bucket, showering the man in chipped ice and frigid water. "I trusted you!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Are you sure he won't get untied before your train departs?" fretted George.

The fashionable woman released her hold on Kid. Her lips curled up in a smile lit as she reached up and patted the side of his face.

"I wouldn't want anything to happen to you boys."

Kid rocked back on his heels and tucked his thumbs into his gun belt. Their carpet bags sat by his feet, the garish orange print on Heyes' bag readily identifiable beneath the departure sign.

"Hamelin's tied up real good," assured Kid. "All those fancy silk ties he had are just as good as ropes."

Heyes escorted George to the step to the southbound train. The platform was nearly vacant this late in the evening. A distant porter swept the platform in preparation for the next trains departure.

"Don't worry about us, we'll be fine," soothed Heyes. "You just watch out for yourself."

George leaned down and hugged Heyes around the shoulders. The train whistle blew. The slim woman straightened up. One hand reached to adjust her blue feathered hat.

"I hope it's not five years before we see you again," added Heyes.

The train lurched into motion. George grasped the metal railing and remained standing outside.

"The next time we see each other, I want to get a picture taken," called George. "It's not fair that Clem has one and I don't!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


End file.
